Marc Myers writes daily on jazz legends and legendary jazz recordings

December 2010

December 30, 2010

Billy Taylor, a pianist mentored by Art Tatum who could play any jazz style flawlessly and whose graceful keyboard choices were matched only by his ability to communicate the joys of jazz on TV and radio, and in books and classrooms, died in New York on December 28 of a heart attack. He was 89. [Photo by Hank O'Neal]

A jazz giant who eschewed alcohol and drugs, Billy defied the jazz-musician stereotypes found in pulp fiction and film of the 1950s. He was gregarious and courtly, well-spoken and approachable—and oddly devoid of the simmering anger, anti-social behavior, bad habits and hipster persona that made the jazz life at once alluring and dangerous.

In many ways, Billy didn't need the cartoonish trappings that sprang up around jazz starting in the late '40s. A highly trained musician, Billy's benevolent personality made his piano playing look easy—a powerful trait that encouraged those who held golden opportunities to share them with him.

Easy-going and industrious, Billy started his career by accompanying the best jazz artists in New York in the mid-'40s. All saw enormous promise in Billy, and all took him under their wing—buffering him from the legions of nocturnal hangers-on, Runyonesque exploiters and chiseling club owners who peppered the New York jazz scene.

One suspects that many of these seasoned jazz artists saw something of themselves in Billy and went out of their way to keep him from becoming just another flash in the jazz pan. Given the lengths to which these jazz artists went, Billy was viewed by older musicians as jazz's best shot for proving that the music was fine art and not merely background for club conversations.

Billy's talent and sunny disposition often landed him prized spots on stage and in recording studios in the '40s. He also was Birdland's house pianist in the early '50s, where he accompanied virtually every jazz legend who played there—except pianists, of course.

Billy's recording career began in 1944 with violinist Eddie South, and his first leadership date for Savoy came a year later with Al Hall on bass and Jimmy Crawford on drums. The four tracks recorded that day in March 1945 were Mad Monk, Solace, Night and Day and Alexander's Ragtime Band.

The dexterity exhibited on those recordings helped Billy land a plum spot in a 1945 concert at New York's Town Hall that was recorded by Commodore Records. Sessions with major jazz artists followed, and Billy joined Don Redman's band in 1946, becoming one of the first jazz musicians to tour Europe just after World War II.

Upon his return in 1947, Billy formed a quartet that included bassist John Levy, John Collins on guitar and Denzil Best on drums.

I spoke with John Levy [pictured] yesterday about Billy and this group:

"I don’t recall how or when I met Billy. We were all friends, playing gigs together on 52nd Street. We both had accompanied jazz violinists a few years earlier—Billy with Eddie South, and me with Stuff Smith. Denzil and I had worked together with pianists Lannie Scott and Jimmy Jones. And John Collins already was an established guitarist. We were a tight rhythm section—exactly the type that clubs would want to hire.

"We all assumed from the start that we’d be heading out on the road to tour. But it didn’t work out that way. Everyone in the group was moving in different directions at once. Later in '47 I recorded with Lennie Tristano and Billy Bauer. Then Denzil and I went with Billie Holiday in 1948.

"Even back in ‘47, Billy was well respected by everyone. He was a great player from the start, and his educational passion was already showing. He would research everything—who wrote the songs, who had recorded them, how they recorded them and so on.

“Billy was naïve—in a good way. He was an innocent and the classiest musician around. He was strictly educational. He didn’t hang out, and he didn’t hit on women or any of that stuff. He married Teddi and that was it. Everyone loved him.”

Between 1947 and 1950, Taylor performed and recorded with a wide range of leading artists, including Charlie Parker, who requested Billy for his August 1950 concert with strings at the Apollo Theater.

In 1952, Billy formed a working trio with bassist Earl May and drummer Charlie Smith—perhaps his greatest group. During this period, Billy was one of the first trio leaders to integrate Latin jazz into his groups. In 1954, the Billy Taylor Trio recorded with conga player Candido Camero for Prestige.

I spoke with Candido yesterday:

"Billy was a genius, a very nice gentleman and humble. There are not enough words to describe how good he was in every way. Not many people know he played with Machito and His Afro-Cubans in 1946 while Machito was waiting for Rene Hernandez to come to New York from Cuba. Billy had learned the Latin feel early by associating with a lot of Latin musicians and by going to hear Latin music in clubs. He was always good to me. I will miss him." [Pictured: Candido, Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker in 1950]

Billy's TV appearances as an "explainer" of jazz's special qualities and importance began in the late 1950s and continued throughout his career. He was the musical director of the David Frost Show in the late '60s and early '70s, and his jazz segments for Charles Kuralt's Sunday Morning on CBS, in which he profiled jazz greats, were always intimate and authoritative. In this regard, Billy probably did more to introduce jazz to new audiences than anyone else before or since.

Last year, after I interviewed Billy, I visited him at his apartment with filmmaker Bret Primack. During our time there, I had a chance to tell Billy that he was responsible for my own interest in jazz. Back in 1968, Billy had visited my junior high school in upper Manhattan with bassist Ben Tucker and drummer Grady Tate. After they performed I Wish I Knew How It Felt to Be Free in the school's auditorium, 45-rpms of the song were handed out to each student. I went home and played the record endlessly, or at least until I heard Young Holt Unlimited's Soulful Strut a year later.

Touched by my comment, Billy went into a closet in his music studio and emerged with a book he had written. It was Jazz Piano: A Jazz History. He opened the flap and wrote something inside and handed it to me, saying "And I mean it." Later, I had a chance to read the inscription: "Dear Marc, Keep on keeping on!!"

While I was writing this post yesterday, Nat Hentoff called and the subject was Billy:

"I think Billy was greatly underappreciated as a jazz pianist," Nat said. "He was always surprising himself. He wasn't a pyrotechnician, but he was always telling his story on the keyboard and finding new ways to be himself."

Those who have had the good fortune to spend time with Billy will not easily forget his wide smile, oversized glasses and melifluous voice. His contributions to jazz are matched only by his vast contribution to jazz appreciation. Billy spread the gospel—gently.

December 28, 2010

In the mid-'60s, Bud Shank recorded a string of albums in Los Angeles for World Pacific Jazz that were West Coast attempts to capitalize on rock, pop and the new movie music. These recordings included Michelle, A Spoonful of Jazz, California Dreamin', Light My Fire, Music from Today's Movies, Magical Mystery and Let It Be. One of the most glorious efforts in this groovy genre was Bud's Windmills of Your Mind (1969).

What I love about Bud on these recordings is that he wasn't turning on or selling out. Instead, his hard sound and all-out blowing on alto sax and flute gave the music a speeding-MG, mid-life crisis sophistication. On Windmills of Your Mind, he fed Michel Legrand's jazz-based pop melodies through the Bud Shank jazz grinder, resisting the temptation to convert the film tunes into adult contemporary fare.

Windmills of Your Mind was arranged by Legrand [pictured] and covered all of the composer's hot material at the time. Which meant three movies—The Thomas Crown Affair, Umbrellas of Cherbourg and The Young Girls of Rochefort. If you're unfamiliar with any of these movies, all are available at Netflix and are must-sees for jazz fans.

Every track is a French twist on the swinging '60s, with superb arranging by Legrand and crisp playing by Bud and the orchestra. The album opens with the Thomas Crown Affair's title song, which is given a paisley feel with Legrand's harpsichord and strings. Watch What Happens from Umbrellas follows, using a fabulous merging of alto, tenor, trumpet and piano. Legrand here plays tag with Bud on the improvised sections, adding to the track's dynamism.

The cat-like Theme D'Elise from Umbrellas offers plenty of punch, and Bud both echoes the arrangement and takes a graffiti can to it on the improvised passages. One Day, which Legrand wrote with Alan and Marilyn Bergman in 1967, is a torrid ballad that Bud plays with abandon backed by Legrand on piano and strings.

Chanson de Solange and De Delphine a Lancien are both uptempo burners from Rochefort. The former finds Bud on alto along with a taste of Byers' trombone and Roberts' guitar. For the latter, Bud is on flute, running through impossibly fast and complex lines backed by piano and vibes. Though the vibist isn't named in the album's personnel, Larry Bunker is a good guess.

I Will Wait for You was the other major standard to emerge from Legrand's Umbrellas. It's taken at a variety of tempos, including a series of Supersax-y lines run down by the two saxes, trumpet and organ.

My favorite here is the inquisitive His Eyes, Her Eyes from The Thomas Crown Affair, which sets Bud and Barone off on a wild tear supported by Kane on organ.

Once Upon a Summertime is taken as a scorching ballad. The album ends with another tune from Rochefort—the skippy Chanson des Jumelles, with Barone's trumpet and Kane's organ.

The older I get, the more I appreciate Bud's jazz-goes-'60s efforts—particularly when they sizzle. To his credit, Bud always stuck to his knitting, no matter the trend or fad. On Windmills of Your Mind, that was an easier challenge given Legrand's French jazz-pop melodies.

JazzWax tracks: Bud Shank's Windmills of Your Mind (World Pacific Jazz) is available only on LP but may be available at download sites. It's on LP at Amazon here. EBay, as of yesterday, also featured quite a few copies.

JazzWax clip:Here's Bud Shank on alto saxophone backed by Gary Barone on trumpet, Artie Kane on organ and Howard Roberts on guitar playing His Eyes, Her Eyes from Windmills of Your Mind (1969)...

December 13, 2010

By now, you probably know that bassist Scott LaFaro was a member of the Bill Evans Trio from 1959 to 1961 and that he died in an auto accident in July 1961. But before LaFaro's association with Evans, he was a working musician in New York and then in Los Angeles. Just before his trip West in 1957, La Faro recorded his first trio album—This Is Pat Moran (Audio Fidelity)—with Moran on piano and Gene Gammage on drums. The album also was issued as The Legendary Scott LaFaro by the label in 1958, one assumes to capitalize on both fan bases.

As Moran's playing demonstrates on this album, she had a graceful, assertive style and a keen, bebop sensibility in '57. In addition to recording This Is Pat Moran, the trio recorded Beverly Kelly Sings with the Pat Moran Trio at around the same time.

Who is Pat Moran? Born Helen Mudgett in 1934 in Enid, Okla., Moran studied piano at Phillips University in her home town and then at the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music. She started as a concert pianist but switched to jazz, forming a quartet. She also recorded with Mel Torme, Oscar Pettiford and Terry Gibbs. That's where the in-print trail goes cold. [Photo of Pat Moran by Ray Avery/CTSImages.com]

But after a little web research yesterday, it appears Moran is still performing and recording. Here are the liner notes from The Gospel Truth (2000) by pianist Patti Moran McCoy, which is how Moran is known professionally today:

"My career started when I was studying piano at the Cincinnati Conservatory. I used to go downstairs and play the piano in the parlor in the evenings. Some of the students suggested I get a manager and play professionally.

"One evening a man who was the booking agent for Doris Day [pictured] said he could book me in a piano bar in downtown Cincinnati. I would have to change my name from Helen Mudgett to a more 'show business' type name. So I became Pat Moran—the name of a cellist at the school I admired.

"One thing led to another and I quit school. I started playing small bars, but I wasn't very good at it. The owners mostly wanted me there to attract men, I suppose. I had been listening to bebop, and I spent most of my time teaching myself to play it. Therefore, I got fired quite frequently!

"Finally I hooked up with a girl singer from the Conservatory, Bev Kelly. We headed for Chicago, signed with a big booking agency, added a bass player and drummer and started singing four-way vocals. We started working at a black club on the street level of a hotel on the South Side.

"We lived in the hotel and played the club for six months. During that time we recorded several albums. We sang with Mel Torme and Duke Ellington's band on Porgy and Bess (along with a cast of other great singers and musicians). My quartet played all the hottest jazz spots in America, including Birdland in New York and the Blue Note in Chicago—before the agency decided I should just have a trio.

"I met bassist Scotty LaFaro at a jazz club in St. Louis. LaFaro was playing with Chet Baker at the time. It was their last night there, and we were opening the next night. I remember that the night after closing, we were all standing around talking, and some girl asked Chet to sing for her.

"Chet started singing Look for the Silver Lining. It was pretty funny. Chet was missing a front tooth, but he was still a good-looking guy! Scotty and I became great friends.

"I've been thinking about my life as a young jazz musician. I guess the highlight of my career was when I played at the Hickory House in New York City. We were taped live from the club twice a week. It was pretty amazing to be playing to an audience consisting of many jazz greats like Miles Davis, Gil Evans, Erroll Garner, Cannonball Adderley (he always called me 'Miss Moran'}—and anyone who was anybody was playing in the city at that time.

"After retiring from the road back in the early '60s, I wrote and recorded a children's album, Shakin' Loose with Mother Goose, with Steve Allen and Jayne Meadows (it won the National Book Award), I recorded several CDs, and I have been on National Public Radio with Marian McPartland."

Back in 1957, Moran was a terrific jazz pianist, and with this recording, we're able to hear LaFaro's engaging brilliance in a trio format two years before he joined Evans and Paul Motian.

JazzWax tracks: This Is Pat Moran has been issued on CD and as a download. If you opt for the download, go here. (You'll find it has been stupidly labeled "explicit" at Amazon. Perhaps they meant "exquisite.")

If you want the CD, Fresh Sound has combined This Is Pat Moran and Beverly Kelly Sings with the Pat Moran Trio. It's here.

The Pat Moran Quartet (1956), with Moran on piano, John Doling on bass, John Whited on drums and Beverly Kelly—all singing four-part harmony while they played—can be found here.

December 06, 2010

Today is Dave Brubeck's 90th birthday. At 5 p.m. (EST), Turner Classic Movies will broadcastIn His Own Sweet Way, a new documentary on Dave's life and music directed by Bruce Ricker and produced by Clint Eastwood. It is a valentine to the pianist and composer whose music continues to wow listeners. [Photo of Dave Brubeck at home, courtesy of Beverley D. Thorne]

Following my Wall Street Journalinterview last month with Dave at his Connecticut home, many readers wrote in asking for more information about his unusual house. So I reached out to the home's architect, Beverley D. Thorne.

Bev [pictured] is one of the last surviving Case Study Houses architects. A friend of Dave and Iola Brubeck since 1949, he designed their home near Oakland in the early '50s—a post-modern residence perched atop a rock mass that was made famous in photos that accompanied a Time cover story on Dave in 1954.

When the Brubecks sold their home to move East in 1960, they again turned to Bev to build a residence in Connecticut. From the front (the facade that faces the road), the structure looks like an unassuming Japanese ranch house. But once inside, you see it's not a ranch house at all but a split-level abode built into a hill. You also notice that the back facade of the home is nearly all glass. These massive windows allow for a panoramic view of the trees, hills, rocks, a lily pond and a rushing stream that runs along side of the house. The sound of the waterway permeates the glass and creates enormous tranquility. Frankly, it's Christmas in Connecticut meets The Fountainhead. [Pictured: Interior of the Brubecks' home from the second-story catwalk, courtesy of Bev Thorne]

Dave told me that Bev often slept outdoors on the property in a sleeping bag while designing the house to chart where the sun emerged in the sky each day so he could best position the structure for maximum sun exposure during season changes. You don't realize how much Dave adores the sun until you see him bathed in it. Only then do you see that this piano wizard of dark clubs and college-campus stages is really a California raisin at heart. [Pictured: Exterior gardens of the Brubecks' home, courtesy of Bev Thorne]

Here's Bev's note to me on what he still fondly refers to as "Brubeck East":

"While I was designing the Brubecks' home in Connecticut, I worked in the basement of the farmhouse Dave and Iola were renting. Many times I would work very late or even all night. The large window above my desk would attract all manner of bugs from the local area, since my drafting-table light was the only one within miles.

"It used to scare the hell out of me when the big bugs banged into the screen on the window. However, their clatter did tend to wake one if there was a tendency to doze off for a few minutes.

"The boulder you wrote in your Wall Street Journal article about is indeed granite, at least to the best of my geologic knowledge. This is one reason I spent so much time at the building site in Connecticut. The stream and the boulders were an integral part of my design composition. [Pictured: View from the Brubecks' house facing the boulders and stream, courtesy of Bev Thorne]

"As you most likely noticed, the entrance to the Brubecks' home sits on a large boulder outcrop that emanates from the natural ground. I wanted to continue this rock theme that was started on the Brubeck West house. [Pictured: Bev Thorne with Iola Brubeck]

"As you recall from our earlier conversation, at the very top of their West Coast home [pictured] was an outcropping of rock inside their home that rested about three feet above the floor. This is the rock that we notched and installed a 3/4" thick sheet of glass in order to make a table for Dave to use for writing music. To continue the theme out West, we used a large boulder as the counter balance for the cantilevered carport's wide flange beam.

"For the East Coast home, I also allowed an outcropping of granite to emerge into their living room, forming a garden.

"I do hope you found Dave and Iola as regular and unassuming as I had mentioned to you. They have always been very family focused and down to earth. Even with all of Dave's fame, I don't believe they have changed very much. [Pictured: View of the Brubecks' living room, courtesy of Bev Thorne]

"To emphasize this point I would like to relate a simple short tale to you:

"When Dave was just beginning to get some notoriety in California, he was playing at the Black Hawk in San Francisco, I believe. We used to meet near the club on his breaks to talk about the house I was designing for him and Iola.

"One evening Dave and I were working on the plans during an intermission. Naturally, a long line had formed outside trying to get into the club to hear this new jazz pianist sensation.

"Well, when it became time for Dave and the group to return to the stage, Dave was nowhere to be found. Then one of the waiters saw Dave and me standing in line waiting to get into the club with everyone else.

"The comment from the waiter, who stepped outside, to Dave was priceless: 'Mr. Brubeck, you really don't need to stand in line to get back to the stage.' Three cheers for that!

"PS: Dave's story about the soup bones in your Wall Street Journal article is true. My wife and Dave's wife used to go shopping together for groceries at the "dented food-can center" down in Berkeley, where prices were reduced to an absolute minimum." [Pictured: Dave playing on his favorite concert grand, accompanied by his son Matthew on cello in lower left-hand corner, courtesy of Bev Thorne]

JazzWax clip: What would Dave's birthday be like without hearing The Duke, a graceful melody Dave wrote in the early '50s while listening to his car's windshield wipers after dropping off his son Chris at nursery school. Marian McPartland has called the song's bass line one of the best ever written...

About

Marc Myers writes regularly for The Wall Street Journal and is author of "Anatomy of a Song" (Grove) and "Why Jazz Happened." Founded in 2007, JazzWax is a two-time winner of the Jazz Journalists Association's best blog award.